


Into the Warehouse

by The Fink (orphan_account)



Category: Green Day, The Network
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-27
Updated: 2006-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/The%20Fink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can never leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Satin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resist temptation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike Dirnt & Van Gough, Gen

Mike nervously made his way through the warehouse, he wasn't doing anything _wrong_ , he'd just come over to talk bass with Van Gough, but he still felt like an intruder.

He paused at one door, left slightly ajar; a faint red glow was spilling out through the frame. Feeling strangely bold, he dared a peak inside.

The end of a bed was all he could see, red satin bedding pooling like blood. He made to move closer but a slim hand on his shoulder stopped him; he turned, meeting pale eyes.

"That's Fink's."

Mike shuddered and followed after Van Gough.


	2. The Sound of Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ringing of bells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tré Cool & Fink, Slash

Tré shifted from foot to foot, feeling more excited than nervous. The room was dark except for a dim red glow, the source of which he couldn’t seem to locate. His companion sat perched on the end of a bed, satin sheets shimmering in the soft light.

"Turn around." A wicked smile, pearly teeth bared like fangs. Tré did as he was told, spinning and facing the wall.

The light died.

Tré licked his lips, his fingers flexing at his sides. A faint clinking sound could be heard, almost like chimes. Three sharp tinkling notes, a pause, and then three again. Getting closer each time, until it he felt like the sound was all around him.

Snakelike fingers trailed slowly around his waist from behind him, sending cold shivers through his spine; they hovered a moment on his hips, burning lazy trails.

He gasped as sharp nails drove into his sides, drawing blood before pulling away completely, leaving him stung and empty.

Something else was snaking around him now, cold and hard, that ringing sound rising to a crescendo. It wasn’t until the serpent reached his wrists that he realized what that sound had been coming from.

Chains.

He leaned into the lithe body behind him, surrendering.


End file.
